


hold onto whatever you've found, baby

by leiascully



Series: New York AU [15]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aren't you hungry?"  "Ravenous."</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold onto whatever you've found, baby

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: NY AU  
> A/N: Title from John Mayer's "I Don't Trust Myself With Loving You". Happy New Year from NY! Especially to [**eugis**](http://eugis.livejournal.com/) and [**stripes13**](http://stripes13.livejournal.com/). ♥ One last fic for 2010.  
>  Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

"You know," Kara says, coming out of a shower still peeling paint out of her hair, "that's most of your family I've seen naked by now."

Lee does a double-take, and not just because she's naked except for the towel half-draped over her shoulder. The sight of her still takes his breath away after all these months and he almost upsets the risotto pan. "You did what?"

"Relax, Leland," she drawls. "Your dad almost had a sheet malfunction. Zak can't tie knots or stand goddamn still. It wasn't a big thing."

"Well, I'm definitely not going to tell them you said that," he deadpans. She smacks at him.

"I mean nothing actually happened and I didn't see anything I shouldn't have," she says. "Not that it would matter if I did. I'm an artist, not a lech. Anyway, I don't have to lure people into my studio to see them naked."

"No," he admits. "Sometimes that happens right here in the kitchen."

"I wouldn't want you to be jealous," she says, easing up behind him and pressing her damp body to his back. The wet ends of her hair soak his shoulders.

"Baby, if I honestly thought you wanted to see my dad and my kid brother naked, I'd be more worried for your mental health than I would be jealous," he tells her. That's at least half true. It was weird to see his dad here, just about on his way out as Lee was coming home, but at least he's never had to worry about Kara kissing his father, for god's sake. Not that he's too worried anymore.

"For someone who does language for a living, you sure can't put together a sentence sometimes," she says. She's warm against his back, moving slowly from side to side. When she speaks again, her voice is throaty, familiar. It makes promises he's longing to keep. "Is that going to explode if you stop stirring it, Lee?"

"It might," he says and has to clear his throat. "It'll burn, anyway. Or get crunchy."

"You're sure you can't leave it?" she asks, and undoes the bottom button of his shirt.

"Dinner's already going to be late," he tells her. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Ravenous," she says, undoing another button. Her nails scrape lightly across his belly. "Can't wait."

"You'll have to," Lee says, drawing a deep breath. "These things take time."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to take it slow," Kara says. She undoes another button.

"It's going to be at least another twenty minutes." Lee's arm already aches a little from stirring the stupid risotto - it's not as if he doesn't work out, but there's not a lot of this kind of motion in his everyday life - and some other parts of him are starting to ache, too. The tailoring of his suit trousers is starting to feel much too snug, though Kara assured him they looked good when he brought them home. She's sliding her hands down the fronts of his thighs now, and she seems to appreciate the texture of the fabric. He supposes there could be some other reasons she might be humming in his ear and nipping at his earlobe, but he's trying to think about non-Kara-related things, risotto things, pouring hot broth instead of feeling hot skin smooth even through the shirt he's still half-wearing. He must look like an idiot, with only the second button of his shirt still fastened and the rest open all down the front like some romance novel cover hunk.

"I think I can wait that long," she purrs. "The question is whether you can."

Risotto, Lee thinks determinedly. Arborio rice - the good stuff - plus hot broth plus mushrooms and leeks and a splash of truffle oil, a little Parmesan, a little wine, and voila, it's dinner. It should go well with the cold duck he's got in the fridge, but stirring the hot broth slowly into the risotto feels like torture at the moment when he could be touching Kara instead. Lee loves to cook, but nothing in the kitchen compares to the banquet that is Kara Thrace. Should he have added sage, he wonders, trying not to thing about Kara's clever artistic fingers undoing the button and zipper of his suit trousers and slipping inside his boxer briefs. Oh god, he's definitely not thinking about the thrilling friction of her fingertips teasing at his cock or the way everything he's wearing is chafing and constraining and separating the expanse of her skin from the expanse of his, which is against the natural order of things.

He shudders a little and slops more broth into the pan, stirring. Kara's hands shove his trousers off his hips and free his cock. The sudden hot pressure of her mouth against his neck almost makes his hips jolt into the stove - he's going to have a hickey like none other. She rubs her breasts against his back. He can feel the points of her nipples through the fabric of his shirt.

"You make a pretty good appetizer," she breathes, sliding her fingers up his cock hand over hand so it's like one continuous caress.

"Jesus Christ, Kara," he says. Finally, finally he's pouring the last of the broth in. As soon as the goddamned rice has soaked this up, he's going to take her up against the fridge. That's as much of a plan as his fevered brain can put together. Risotto, he thinks, but his will is getting weaker. He's so damn close to finishing the stuff. He's not going to give in now, no matter how hard he has to grit his teeth and whip her up in his arms. The spoon scrapes against the bottom of the pan and it's done, thank any gods there are, and he drops the spoon in the rest, crams the lid onto the pot, turns off the heat, and pulls her up closer against him than he thought was possible. His mouth finds her mouth like a heat-seeking missile: it feels like an explosion in his veins, the slow burn of ignition and then the cataclysmic lust. He shoves her up against the fridge - she laughs in his mouth, pretending to fight back but really urging him on - and hauls her leg up over his hip with one hand as he shoves off his underwear with the other. It gets caught around his feet and he almost trips, pushing into her, but the dancing lessons Mom made him take pay off. He keeps his rhythm and untangles himself, still kissing Kara like she's all he's ever been hungry for.

"Took your sweet time," she murmurs. "Like I care about food right now."

"It's gourmet, not Lean Cuisine," he protests.

"And I want Hungry Man," she tells him, "so get to work."

He shuts up and kisses her again. Just being near her is intoxicating; being sunk in her, her arms around him and her nails scratching his back, is the most incredible experience of his life. Every single time, it's a revelation. She's worth waiting any number of lifetimes for. He tries to hold back, to be gentle, but she sinks her teeth into his shoulder and drums at him with her heel until he lets go and thrusts until her back is slapping against the fridge and she's still asking for more. He slips an arm behind her to protect her - he's got that many brain cells left - and her back arches, canting her hips against his in a way that's apparently _really_ good for her, the way she starts moaning into his skin. He can't really tell a difference for himself - there's not much subtlety between mind-blowing and transcendent. The top of his head is floating off into space and the rest of him is melting in the heat of her body and the muscles in his thighs are trembling with effort and how goddamn close he is.

Kara shouts wordlessly, her body going stiff and then boneless in his arms. He can feel her leg trembling around him and he thrusts even faster, panting, desperate to reach his own release so that they can slump together to the cool tile of the floor and lie in each other's arms.

"Come on, Lee," she whispers in his ear. He presses his face against her cheek, bone against bone, her body resilient, her hair caught in his mouth. He opens his eyes and all he can see is the bright gold of her hair, the light of it filling his field of vision, and he whispers her name to her and loses himself in the pleasure of holding her, of filling her, of trying to make one glorious moment with two earth-bound bodies. She clasps him to her, lets him catch his breath on her shoulder, and then their knees buckle under them and they do slide down onto the floor. His shirt is soaked with sweat and the last button's loose. He takes it off and makes a pillow for her head.

"I love you," he tells her.

"Whatever," she says, but a smile curls her lips.

"I love you, Kara Thrace," he insists. "I don't care who knows. I'll shout it from the roof."

"My roof's pretty casual, but I don't think you're quite dressed for it."

He scrambles to his feet. "Then I'll shout it out the window."

"Go ahead." She smirks and turns onto her side. The sweet curve of waist and hip makes him want to start all over again right there on the floor.

"I'm going," he tells her.

"Go on," she says.

Lee takes a deep breath and marches himself to the window, naked as a jaybird. He's going to get cited for this, he thinks, somehow he's going to get a ticket and lose his job but it's too late for second thoughts, becuase he can feel her eyes on him. He heaves open the window until there's a gap he can put his head in. "I LOVE KARA THRACE," he bellows to the indifferent streets. "AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS!"

A pedestrian applauds him, or maybe she's shouting - he's not really listening anymore. He closes the window carefully and turns around, hands on his hips. "See?"

"No, stay there," Kara says. "Give everybody a really good view. Ladies and gentlemen of a certain persuasion, Lee Adama's ass."

"Can we eat now?"

"Yeah," she says, "I'm fucking starving. Geez, Lee, what took so long?"

"You're a laugh riot, you know it?"

"Well, you're stuck with me now," she tells him, and even if he had words to express his thankfulness for that, he wouldn't speak. He just holds the moment in his memory, a perfect snapshot of his perfect life.


End file.
